


I Love You and I'm Sorry

by BleedingDeath



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingDeath/pseuds/BleedingDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghost and Roach fall in love, only to have it torn apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You and I'm Sorry

It had started out innocent. With teasing and laughs, but it had grown into so much more. It became sweet whispers and hushed voices in the night. Small touches that couldn't be recognized by anyone but them. Quiet times alone together and bite marks on throats.

He hadn't known when it had happened, but it was one night in the dark of their room when it was said.

"Hey, Gary?" Ghost whispered, running his fingers lightly through thick messy brown hair.

"Hm? Something wrong Simon?" His eyes flicked up as if disrupted. He must have been counting the scars along his body again.

"Will you be mine?"

Roach scowled slightly. "Why would you ask something like that?"

He avoided his gaze. "Ah, never mind... forget I said anything..." _What a stupid thing to say._

But then Roach smiled and shook his head. "You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that you didn't need to ask me that because..." He paused, a light warm flush spreading across his face.

"Because?" He couldn't stand waiting to hear what he had to say anymore. He was nervous as hell, but he was an expert at hiding it. Roach had been the only one who he dared let in, and even then, he still hid behind a mask.

"Because... I thought I already... was yours," he answered softly, brushing his lips against Ghost's.

He smiled, kissing him back with slow purpose. "I love you, Bug."

"I love you too Simon." He snuggled up closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

These were the times he loved. The times when they didn't have to worry, the times where war was the furthest from their minds, the times where everything felt like it would be... okay.

But those days were short.

They had been escaping Makarov's safe house when Roach had been wounded by mortar fire. He had to drag him because he couldn't stand. He would not leave him behind. At a certain point it all became a blur. Shepard had been there, he thought he would help them, but he didn't.

He shot them in the chest and threw them both in a ditch. He tried to get back up, but was shot again. Then the gasoline was poured on them. There was nothing he could do. Shepard stood over them with his mouth smug as he lit a cigar to smoke.

He threw it onto them. The blaze started instantly, engulfing them. It hurt. It burned the fabric into his flesh, it burned the nerves so after a while there was no pain. He had been looking at Roach the whole time. Trying to move to him, even though he couldn't. His face was full of fear. That was the last thing he saw.

He didn't remember much after that. When he had woken up he saw Soap's blurred face. 'Where's Roach...?' he had managed to croak out, and Soap had told him, "No' now Ghost, just rest, you'll be okay."

And then about a week passed. He had gotten surgery, skin grafts, for the burns. It was at this time where he asked where Roach was again. Soap's face had become stoic as he sat on the end of the bed Ghost was in.

"Bloody hell Soap, where is Roach?" He was on the verge of shouting.

His brow knit together as if thinking of what to say, but that shouldn't have been necessary if...

"Where the fucking hell is Gary?" he yelled, verging on sounding vicious.

"Ghost he... he didna mak it..." he answered solemn.

"No. No, you're lying." He shook his head.

"Ghost..."

"No! It's not true! He's not... Gary isn't dead!" he shouted, sitting upright.

"Ghost I—"

"Get out! Just get the hell out!"

Soap left without an other word knowing all too well his words wouldn't reach him.

He sat there, staring at the ceiling. Roach couldn't be dead. Roach wasn't easy to kill. He _couldn't_ be dead.

In a few weeks however, he could no longer keep himself in denial. Roach was dead, and it was his fault. When he had come to this realization he had sobbed quietly in the room they had shared, wishing for his comfort that would no longer be there.

Some time after, he also found Soap wouldn't let him back out into the field. Not only because he was still recovering from burn injuries, but because he deemed him "mentally unfit." Mentally unfit his ass. If Shepard got in his sights he'd put a bullet right between his eyes without a second thought.

About a month had passed, a month of sleepless nights, a month of withdrawing from everyone, everything, a month of emptiness. He spent most of the days practicing at the shooting range, taking out his anger and pain on the still targets.

After another month had passed and he had confronted Soap again.

"Soap, you have to let me back into the field."

"Ghost, we've been ower this before. The answer is the same," he answered shuffling through some papers at his desk.

"Soap, you have to listen, Shepard is still out there. I need to kill him." He slammed his fist against the table.

"Ghost, that is _enough_. You _cannot_ go out into the field. Killing Shepard yerself is _not_ going to make anything better. Do you think it'll bring Gary back?" He stood up, shouting.

"I know that isn't going to make him come back! But that bastard killed Roach, and he is going to pay for it, and it will be by my hands!"

"Ghost, I will not repeat myself. If you go out there, yer gonna endanger not only yerself, but the entire team! I know you miss Roach, we all do!"

"No, you don't understand! None of you fucking understand! You don't know the hell it was seeing him burn alive! I watched him die! I couldn't move, I couldn't save him, so I watched him die, Soap! I..." He clenched his fists.

"Ghost..." He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he responded, walking away.

It was nighttime. Soap and the others were out hunting for Shepard. He was alone except for a few other soldiers around the base. The day had been hell. He hadn't slept the night before, nightmares of Roach dying plagued his mind. He had spent all day shut away in their room staring at where he used to lay beside him.

He never noticed when he had started to cry, but the tears were choking him behind his balaclava and he had to take it off, rubbing his red eyes and bringing his hand up to clench at his hair.

It had all been his fault. He thought about it all day, knowing it to be true. If he had shot Shepard, Gary would be alive, even if he himself had died, at least Gary would be alive. But he was dead, and he was alive instead, like a cruel twist of fate. If he had been strong enough, he could've fought back, but he wasn't. He had never been strong.

His father had shown him that when he was a child. He had always been, and would always be weak. With his unresolved issues that he wouldn't speak to anyone about, the abuse he was put through, he never spoke about his family. He was worthless.

Gary had always been there for him, but in the end, he wasn't there in return. Everyday was hell without him. Without his Bug by his side.

He was shaking. His breathing uneven from trying to hold the sobs back, but they kept coming. He had grabbed a gun he kept under the bed and left it beside him. He wish he had died. Roach had never deserved to die. Never. But he did, he deserved pain.

With shaky hands he grabbed a pen and paper on the desk and wrote: I love you, and I'm sorry.

The tears stained his face no matter how much he tried to wipe them away. He sat on the bed and held the gun in his hands. His entire body was now trembling. This would be it. He breathed in deeply, pressing the gun to his head.

"See you soon, Bug."

The shot fired, blood splattering across the bedsheets were they both used to lay entangled in each others arms. It was late when Soap found him, no one had heard the gunshot. He had been too late, he should've had someone watching him... but life was full of "if only I had done this." On the desk was a small note simply saying, "I love you, and I'm sorry."

He turned to look at Ghost's body, today they had lost a great soldier. "I hope yer with yer bug now, Ghost."

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually had this fic for a while, but I had made myself so sad working on it that I stopped. But now it's finished and I hope you... enjoy it?


End file.
